


The Scientific Method (Doesn't Translate Well to Dating)

by Megan



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, First Date, Humor, New Game Plus Challenge, POV First Person, Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/pseuds/Megan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That glimmerous fop has no idea what he's getting into by going on a date with Ema (or that science is already her boyfriend).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scientific Method (Doesn't Translate Well to Dating)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stealth_Noodle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stealth_Noodle/gifts).



> For the prompt _Ema and science!_

Have you ever been on a date with Klavier Gavin? Of course you haven't; you're probably not in the habit of making incredibly bad life choices like I am. (Either that, or you're sitting there wondering how you might score a date with Klavier Gavin, to which I can only ask _what is wrong with you_?) Let me tell you exactly how it goes: he picks something ridiculous to do because he, and I quote, has to be careful where he takes such a beautiful fraulein, lest his fans get angry and do something unfortunate. That should have been my _second_ clue that taking him up on his offer was a bad idea. (The first clue was all the glimmering.)

That's how I ended up in a boat on Gourd Lake, face to face with Los Angeles's (literal) rockstar prosecutor. _A boat ride alone in the evening, nothing but us and the fireflies and the sound of waves-- it is very romantic, ja?_ , he'd said. And hey, it might have even been the one area besides hair care and Italian shoe dealers that he would have some kind of experience in. Too bad I turned out to be wrong about that-- nothing but us and the _mosquitoes_ , maybe. It was enough to make a girl wish Gourdy was real, just so it would start roaring and interrupting this terribly, terribly awkward evening.

"I would have rather taken you somewhere you deserve, of course," Gavin said, as if he had some kind of (terribly broken, but still existent) sixth sense for awkwardness finally kick in and tell him that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't exactly being swept off my feet by Big Glimmerous Gavin's Big Glimmerous Boat Ride. "Perhaps next time, if I can divert my adoring public in advance. To be honest, I was not expecting you to say yes; you did throw a bag of your snacks at my face the last time I tried."

Hah. That had been pretty awesome, until he'd run off with them for himself. _You've given them to me now_ , he'd said, all smug and glittery like he always got. And of course he'd still looked like a rock star while eating stolen junk food, which was just unfair if you ask me (and of course nobody ever does, even though I have to put up with the man and his posing and his getting glitter all over my nice, clean police reports-- everybody thinks I'm kidding about the _glimmerous_ thing, but no, I make such bad life choices that I agreed to a date with a man who wears what basically amounts to _body glitter_ ).

"I threw them at you because you were _stepping_ on my _crime scene_ ," I informed him. And he had been! All the glass where the perp had broken the window in had been getting crunched under those stupid, pointy Italian boots and I hadn't even had a chance to get a sample for _analysis_ yet. Forensics had stopped giving me copies of their reports weeks after I started, because I'd send them back with corrections. (Is it my fault that I see things they miss? No, it's _theirs_.) Now I have to get them from the prosecutors themselves, hence my intimate knowledge of shimmer or bronzer or whatever it is that Gavin slathers all over his admittedly extremely attractive body and gets all over his reports. (I really, really hope nobody lets the man handle evidence, but given the Los Angeles Superior Court's long and storied history of complete incompetence and the LAPD's more sudden but just as storied descent into it I know better in my heart.)

What? He _is_ attractive, if completely flamboyant and pointless. There's a reason I didn't throw another bag of Snackoos at his head when he asked me out again, and it wasn't (just) that I wanted to eat them.

"Maybe we should get something to eat," Gavin said, sounding a little bit less than supremely confident for the first time in pretty much ever. "You get cranky when your blood sugar gets low. It's very cute, but you aren't the sort of woman who starves herself for fashion."

That didn't even make _sense_ (and it still doesn't now that I'm looking back on it), and that was saying something considering normally I can mostly figure out what he means between translating alien (if I believed in them, Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey would be _prime candidates_ , I'm just saying) into English and the crash-course in German expletives that anyone working in the same building as Prosecutor Von Karma gets really really quickly.

" _Cranky?_ " I hadn't even had the chance to let out my righteous indignation at that-- I was actually contemplating tipping the boat over, because it would hurt him and his hairspray and his leather a lot more than it hurt me in my ponytail and poly-cotton off-the-rack clothes-- when something behind us splashed loudly enough that if there had been any sign of another boat on the lake I'd assume someone was hiding a body.

And then it splashed again, which had _both_ of us scrambling to look so fast we almost capsized the rowboat anyway.

"What the--" Gavin breathed, because even _he_ had to admit that something should not have just poked its very long neck and very small head out of the middle of Gourd Lake like some kind of... well, some kind of _Gourdy_. Every single sighting before this had been proved a hoax or a misinterpretation of a photograph or an overenthusiastic reporter (or drifter or lawyer or spirit medium) mistaking a log for a lake monster, but I... I had to admit, I was really flailing for an explanation for this one. This wasn't some blurry, far-away sighting; by all appearances, _a plesiosaur had just surfaced yards away from our boat_.

And that meant only one thing; I started rowing to shore.

"What are you doing?" Gavin practically yelped, and flailed for his own oars in decidedly ungraceful surprise.

"What do you think I'm doing?" I asked him, and _really_ , if I could identify what day a police report had come through the prosecutor's office by the color of his shiny fingerprints then he should have learned by now what _I_ was all about. (And yes, I realize expecting him to know this sheds more light on the bad life choices we've discussed here than I like to admit.) "They rent scuba gear in the boathouse. I'm going to get some."

"There are _so many things wrong with that plan_ ," Gavin said, and he looked torn between going along with the plan (surely he had some investigative spirit in there somewhere-- otherwise, prosecutor was _entirely_ the wrong career decision for him) and running away as fast as his overly long legs could take him. "Do you have a scuba license? Do you realize that the boat house closed at sundown? Do you realize you are proposing _diving after a carnivorous lake dinosaur?_ "

"Yes, yes, and yes," I said impatiently. "I got it one spring break when I went to Australia and visited a reef, we are _police officials_ appropriating the equipment for _police business_ , namely to prove that there is _not_ a carnivorous lake dinosaur living in Gourd Lake. Which, by the way, is not a dinosaur. It's a _plesiosaur_."

I took a class on dinosaurs once. I needed an elective and it was interesting. And now it had _totally paid off_ , because I would prove once and for all that science trumped superstition and that there was no prehistoric hobgoblin living in a lake outside Los Angeles. (For god's sake, _Gourd Lake is artificial_. They filled it in the _nineteen sixties_. How anyone thinks Gourdy got in there is _beyond me._ )

"...you win," Gavin said with a chuckle that rapidly turned into a full-throated laugh. "We will have an _eventful_ first date, if nothing else."


End file.
